An Ounce of Perception
by SinnamonGirl
Summary: Gimli and Legolas begin to perceive one another. Eventually slash.
1. Chapter 1

**An Ounce of Perception**

**(against an age of obscure)**

**Part 1: Moria **

Grief did not bow the shoulders of the descendant of Durin. Though the long dark of Khazad-dûm had begun to breed misgivings and dread in his heart, he carried himself as a dwarf lord of old, as a cousin of kings. Yet, in secret places, Gimli began to accept that the long silence that had followed the establishment of a dwarven colony in these halls was the silence of the grave.

Ahead, he heard the voices of elf and man mingled in the flute-like tones of elven speech and the muscles beneath his unbowed shoulders tensed and drew tight. He did not desire to know what the elf spoke, though he could imagine that his words disparaged Khazad-dûm's echoing vaults and drowned caverns. He glanced around at the rest of the company. The hobbits, merry as children despite the shadow, laughed and talked together, seeking to bolster the spirits of the Ringbearer. They seemed to take no note of the conversation being carried on in chirps and bell-like chimes. Gimli wondered if Frodo might understand some of the words. Bilbo had famously been interested in tongues; Balin had said that the old hobbit even knew a few ceremonial phrases of Khudzul. Gimli closed his owl-bright eyes; perhaps it was the sound of Khudzul that he longed for, perhaps the elf's words pained him because they reminded him that he was alone in the very midst of the Fellowship.

"I wish you would speak to him. The words might not come amiss from your tongue. I would not trouble Gandalf with it as he seeks to lead us through this vast dark."

Aragorn did not have time to answer the elf. The wizard had dropped back and now stood between them, his staff shining gently in the dim.

"Speak truth, Legolas Thranduilion," said Gandalf the Grey, amusement brightening his eyes like the fireworks for which he was famous among the Shire Folk. "And say that you would not speak to me because you fear that you will not like the answer that I have to give in return."

The changeable eyes of the elf flickered and in clear light a faint blush could have been perceived on the high elvish cheekbones. "You think me wrong to complain? It is unsettling to be so openly the object of mistrust. And so often."

"Legolas claims that Gimli oversees each of his watches," Aragorn explained. "When the hobbits watch, or one of us, he sleeps."

"I am many years his elder," said the elf. "And though I was part of the guard that let Gollum escape, I can yet be trusted to stand watching in deep darkness, even in the halls of dwarves!"

Head lowered, Gandalf made sounds of amusement into his beard. When he spoke, it was in the common tongue. "As quick to kindle as the birch they love are the tempers of the woodland elves. Or, perhaps, such kindling may only be accomplished by dwarven hands, which are said to be able to call flame from bare stone at need. You misunderstand the actions of your companion, Master Elf."

Legolas glanced back over his shoulder. If Gimli heard Gandalf's words then he gave no sign, frozen before some shaped column threaded through with veins of metal.

Looking between the elf and the Istar, Aragorn saw the firstborn master himself to hear where he had gone astray. His proud chin was lifted and he looked the prince that he was, his white and grey garments flashing about him like storm light. "What secret ways of the dwarves have I misread?"

The wizard might have taken offense; Aragorn half expected him to rap the elf's shoulder with his staff. But Mithrandir's eyes were warm and fond, the skin around them creased. This time, he spoke in the elf's tongue. "Master Elf, your ears are keen as well as curved. Have you not heard our dwarven companion speaking to the stones as we seek our way toward the light of the outer world?"

"I have," Legolas admitted. "The rocks seem to call to him and he answers, sometimes in his own tongue and sometimes in the common speech. Quartz he has crooned to, and deposits of unpolished gems. If he had the tools, I think he would unearth them and show their sparkling faces to such light as finds its way to this place." One shoulder jerked upward in a shrug. "What of it? The dwarven love of jewels and metal is well known."

"It is not only gems that he speaks of, when he thinks no one is listening to him," said Gandalf. "'An elven cry as a warning,' he said to himself when we bedded down to sleep. 'No. This place must wear upon his thin shoulders. It would pain me if terror came upon him in the dark.'"

Aragorn tilted his head to the side, his face taking on the very look of the Ranger listening for some far off thing. "He worries for you, prince of Mirkwood. He is concerned about how you fare in Moria. Even you cannot speak against him for that."

Legolas did not share his view. "It is foolish. I am as much a warrior as he! And I did not ask for his protection!"

Gandalf held the elf's eyes with his and Mirkwood's prince seemed to diminish under the power of that gaze. "You did not ask, but it is given. You might find courtesy enough to answer so rare a gift."

Isildur's heir nodded in agreement. "Yes. That you might, Legolas." Behind them, the hobbits continued to chatter, making observations on each chamber they passed through and on each figure carved in stone. Gimli stalked on alone and silent.

The elf's eyes flicked between the wizard and the Ranger. "What would you have me do?"

"You might offer courtesy," the man suggested. "And withdraw your mistrust. You spoke of being unsettled by it – how must he feel, ever under the pall of your suspicion? All others of our company have received kindness and trust from you in equal measures. You might treat him the same."

The elf wanted to protest, to say that he made no distinction between the mighty Boromir and the gentle Samwise who had wept to send the pony Old Bill back to Rivendell and the dwarf. His tongue lay still behind his teeth because he knew it was a lie. In his mind, Gimli had ever been one of the Naugrim. "I… I will try to be less harsh. More courteous."

"Good," said Gandalf. "He grieves, Master Elf. A word of comfort might mean much."

Though wise enough not to rouse a wizard's wrath by ignoring his advice, Legolas did not act immediately. Instead, as the march took them deeper and deeper beneath the earth, he thought back to Rivendell. Elven memory was clear and keen and he saw himself as he saw Gloin's son for the first time. An echo of Thranduil's scowl rose to his lips. Other memories followed. He had overlooked the dwarven representative. When he had finally deigned to see him, he had done so only to quarrel with him, until Gandalf had intervened at the gate. Then they had worked together, dwarf and elf, to listen to the stone.

So, when Gimli's eyes next glinted in the dark, Legolas cast his voice across the darkness between them like a length of silver rope. "You watch with me again, Master dwarf."

"I would watch _for_ you if you wished it," came the deep voice, rumbling even in its softness. "These hours in the dark must seem overlong to you, and wearying."

Legolas had learned that Gimli saw better in deep darkness than he and he forced himself not to bristle and read an insult into the words. "I thank you, but I would know why you make this offer to me alone."

Gimli stood at that and crossed the stone floor to sit beside the elf. "I would not wake them," he explained and Legolas felt shame flash through his breast. Gimli seemed to be almost apologizing for drawing near; the dwarf would not have done so if he had come to sit with any other member of their company. Once, Legolas would have looked on his very movements as cumbersome, burdened as he was by his helm and his axes. He made himself look again and saw Gimli move with stealth, stirring no broken stone. _Perhaps he has his own grace._

"I wondered when you would speak," the dwarf said once he had settled.

"You knew that I had noticed?"

The music of a dwarven chuckle seemed to fit the cavernous halls. "I may be a proud dwarf of the line of Durin, but I have not conceit enough to try to deceive immortal eyes. I did not hide from you."

"No," Legolas agreed. "It would not be your way. You are all openness with the hobbits, with all of our company." _All but me._ "But still you do not say why you share my watches and not theirs."

Dwarven hands shifted, searching something to work at. Legolas realized that he had rarely seen Gimli's hands empty or idle. Settling on the bindings of a lesser axe, the dwarf opened his mouth to say, "The Shirefolk are a fellowship within our fellowship. Sam watches over his master and Master Brandybuck keeps an eye on his young cousin, anyway."

"They share the dark out of friendship."

"Aye."

"And you would offer as much to me?"

The bindings of the axe were secure once more, wound one around the other. "Gandalf bade us be friends," said the dwarf. "But this is not why."

"I would hear the reason if you would give it."

Gimli seemed to be looking far away, back into the dark. "I looked upon doors fashioned by an elf and a dwarf in friendship."

"And felt wonder?" The elf did not need to ask; he had seen the change come over Gimli's features.

"I wondered what we might do together if we opposed one another less."

Legolas found himself shaking his fair head until pale strands of hair danced before his face. "And is this the way of dwarves? If I speak 'friend,' I may so easily enter into your heart?"

Gimli laughed again. "Is this the way of elves? To question a gift freely given? Do we know so little of each other?"

"It is the way of this elf. _You_ make me feel wonder, master dwarf. I have been cruel to you."

Gimli's head moved side to side, negating the words. "No worse than I. We both spoke out of old mistrusts."

Legolas could not accept this. His usually impassive face was stricken, his eyes bright in the dim. "My error was the greater one. I singled you out for my unkindness, an unkindness you did nothing to earn."

The dwarf gave him a broad, mischief-bright grin. "I never did think the first born were actually perfect."

Silver elven laughter brightened the dark. "No, we are not. And if you can suffer my imperfections, I would ask for your friendship now in the halls of your fathers and ask you to forget what has come before."

"Then friends we are, Legolas Greenleaf." Gimli stood and offered a deep, ceremonial dwarven bow.

Sitting, Legolas gaped. "That is all? I ask and you grant?" He seemed pleased and surprised and amazed all at once and Gimli considered teasing him by asking what penance he thought proper for slighting a dwarf lord.

Unsure of whether a new-forged friendship would stand up under such a joke, he settled for asking, "Do you always think and fret so much?"

"My father held captive yours!"

"Yes. And though your scowl can be as elegant as a dance, you are not Thranduil and I am not Gloin. And even he never thought to lay that debt entirely at the feet of the elvenking. Thornin Oakenshield's stubbornness had a part to play."

"Friends, then," the elf murmured. "I shall share your watches, then, as you have shared mine. And, perhaps, as we journey on, you can tell me what you see and what the stones tell you."

Gimli bowed again and then something flickered across his face. "Happy will I be for someone to speak to of Khazad-dûm, but there is something I would show you now."

"We cannot stray far and leave the sleepers," came the expected protest.

"Seven steps we go from their sides," said the dwarf. "Only into the next chamber. If I am correct, you will see a sight that might serve to make our marches here worthwhile."

"Lead on then, friend Gimli. I cannot see the way as clearly as you, so do not stray far from my side!"

Forcing back fears that Gimli was leading him to see some crumbling ruin, Legolas nearly staggered back when they crossed the threshold to the adjoining chamber. "I dream," he said, the words more breath than sound. "There is Luinil! And Elemmírë! They have come down from the sky and dance upon the floor!" He whirled to the dwarf. "How does this come to pass? I have heard that dwarves could draw starlight into the jewels of a crown or the hilt of a sword, but this…"

Gimli smiled. "I will not have to ask if my gift is worthy, my new friend. I am glad."

The elf moved through the starlight, speaking to each shining light as if to a friend. When he looked up, his eyes shined at Gimli. "What is this place? How did you know these stars would be here?"

"It is a dwarven art. Though we love our mountains, we thin the stone to feel the wind and to hear the rain and to see the stars. Clear gems in the floor match the constellations overhead and reflect their light."

So began a watch of many minutes in the halls of Khazad-dûm, and, under the light of high and distant stars, Gimli son of Gloin and Legolas of the Woodland Realm began to see the truth of one another.

When their walk resumed, Legolas and Gimli journeyed side by side. The elf's questions came bright and rapid and the dwarf's booming answers followed. When their laughter rose together it reminded the other walkers of silver and gold wound together, each brightening the other. Aragorn looked to their leader. "Well, that is a fine piece of work you have wrought."

"It is a beginning."

The Ranger tilted his head, questioning. "But not all you wished."

"The stars do not wheel according to my wishes, son of Arathorn. This thing, if it is what I believe, is something of great rarity and could heal much that is in need of mending, but it is beyond my powers."

Aragorn flashed a smile. "But not beyond your encouragement."

The wizard chuckled into his beard and made a sound of amused agreement.


	2. Chapter 2

**An Ounce of Perception**

**(against an age of obscure)**

**Part 2: Lorien**

The Fellowship rested in the peace of Lorien and all around them elven voices rose into the twilight dim, mourning their lost leader. Having been welcomed by the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, the eight walkers sought their rest and gave vent to their grief. The hobbits sat together, weeping, and Boromir and Aragorn spoke of the road ahead, heads together beneath the golden boughs.

Thranduil's son was not surprised when Gimli came to his side. Though Moria would always be a place of fear for him, the friendship they had forged in the starry chamber remained.

The dwarf held out his broad hands. "I've made you this."

Legolas took hold of the small, warm bundle. "What is it, friend?"

"It's a poultice, you daft creature."

Legolas made his typical birdlike motion, cocking his head in question. Gimli caught the way his lips quirked at the teasing. "But I am uninjured."

The dwarf shook his head and his beard seemed to bristle at the untruth. "There is a nasty, deep cut on your upper arm. I saw it when you drew me away from Balin's tomb." His voice grew husky with grief.

Surprise touched elven eyes. Tears had bathed the dwarf's cheeks and his eyes had been bright with anguish, his mouth wide as he wailed his loss. _And still you saw_. "Elves heal quickly."

"I do not doubt it, having seen the speed in your feet and how quickly you drew your arrows from your quiver. Still, even if the blade was not the poisoned type that orcs are wont to bear, orc blood is a foul thing. The poultice will draw out the filth."

Accepting, Legolas pushed the sleeve of his tunic toward the shoulder and pressed the poultice to the jagged cut there. The warmth was pleasing and after a moment his eyes widened. "Gimli! This smells like cedre – what my folk call the emerald sentry."

"Aye." The dwarf lowered his eyes. "I thought it might bring you some small ease, to be reminded of your home and better times. I would lessen your grief if I could." Then, he gave another of his deep bows and left Legolas wide-eyed with wonder.

A cluster of Galadrim elves stared at him, having watched the exchange. Legolas could see the marks of amusement in their faces and his fingers trembled for his bow. "It was a noble gift," he told them, voice and eyes cold. The watchers melted into the trees.

When he turned around to seek out his new friend, a grinning Ranger stood at his shoulder. "I imagine your distant kin are thinking you as unfriendly and ill-mannered as any dwarf, now."

"Let them think what they wish." He adjusted the poultice, releasing more of its spicy scent. "Aragorn, do you know where Gimli would find cedre bark? Such trees do not grow here."

"No, but they do grow at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. If I were to guess, your new friend's pipe has sacrificed much for your comfort."

Legolas shook his head and smiled, remembering all of the foolish things he had so recently believed. "He will shift my entire view of the world before he is done. I was taught that dwarves are grasping things, greedy and blind to the needs of others. But what higher generosity could any being show than this? He seeks to free me from my grief, even as he retires to shoulder his own alone."

As the elf walked away, Aragorn felt certain that Gimli son of Gloin would not walk alone for long.


	3. Chapter 3

**An Ounce of Perception**

**(against an age of obscure)**

**Part 3: Lorien (continued) **

The Lady of the Golden Wood had spoken in the ancient and secret tongue of the dwarves and as Legolas sat by a stream that laughed to itself, he wished that he possessed her knowledge. As the wish formed in his mind, he almost joined in with the stream. An elf wishing for the secrets of the dwarves! Perhaps some drop of Noldor blood was making itself known after all his long years!

The thoughts of the elven prince scattered like leaves when the very elf he had been thinking of appeared at his shoulder as if his thoughts had called to her. Remembering the touch of her mind – _the test _– Legolas decided that thought alone might serve as a form of summoning where such power was concerned. In the safety of the realm she ruled, she walked without guard or retainer and her eyes shined upon him, gentle as the touch of the sun. "What are you puzzling over, son of the Greenwood? I would see care fall from your shoulders, here. The road ahead is long and dangerous. You would do well to take rest before you are called to set your feet on it yet again."

"You honor me, Lady, but you need not fear for me," said the archer. "I am not lost to grief, though the loss of Mithrandir is hard to bear, especially when I look to the days ahead." He did not speak the name of the one who had kept him from losing himself in mourning, kept him from running from the Golden Wood back to those dark halls to rescue Gandalf if he lived or to lose his life in vengeance if he did not. Instead, he said, "I would not draw you away from your people and your deeds with my small cares."

Lovely golden laughter spilled from Galadriel's throat. "My time is yet mine to spend while Middle Earth remains free. And if your cares are small, my care for you is not, kinsman. You represent all elves on this quest."

He nodded his gratitude and acquiescence. "I may represent all elvenkind, unready as I was for the task, but it is not to the elves that my mind now turns." He paused to search her wise and radiant eyes. What he saw there comforted him and he gathered his courage to continue. "My thoughts dwell, now, with my friend Gimli. He cared for me when grief stole the song from my lips and I would offer him as much. Yet, to do so, I find that I need your wisdom, Lady, and your leave. I felt it a presumption to ask for either."

She brushed a gentle hand over his furrowed brow. "Even if I cared not for you, Legolas Greenleaf," _And that is not and never could be so_, said her smiling eyes. "I would not wish to see the strong shoulders of Gloin's son bowed under the burden of pain."

Heart light with gratitude and with the presence of so great a leader of elves, Legolas confided his plan.

For the length of a day, Legolas worked alone in a glade at Lorien's borders. Song had returned to his lips and to his heart and his voice came to the border guards who wondered at its accent and at his errand, but who did not disturb him at his task. Rumor had flitted quickly through their ranks; they marked their cousin from Eryn Lasgalen as quick of hand and quick of temper. They had heard how he had defended the dwarf and they quietly searched him for some sign of taint. If Legolas felt the touch of their probing eyes he gave no sign, and when the sun began to slide down the sky he sought out the fellowship. His light-footed arrival was greeted by exclamations of welcome from the hobbits.

"We thought we'd lost you to fairer and loftier company," said Pippin, drawing himself up as though delivering a great, grave announcement. Frodo and Samwise groaned at his silliness.

"He means only as you've been missed, Master Legolas," said the gardener. "Though there are elves all about, they aren't the sort of elves one can find much comfort in."

The wood elf nodded his head low in thanks; comfort was what he had come to give. He hoped that Gimli could find it in him as easily as the Shire folk could. "I am proud to be the kind of elf best suited to a company like this," he told them, smiling. "But it is Gimli's company I seek now." He turned bright eyes on the dwarf and all who saw them marked them as wise and magic-seeming and soft with affection. "Friend, will you walk a ways with me?"

As their matched strides took them into the forest, Legolas heard Sam say, "That's a new tune and no mistake. And one a sight more pleasing to my ears, too!"

The answering laughter that softly rumbled through Gimli's chest pleased the elf at his side, and Legolas let his hand rest a moment on his shoulder.

When they had walked far enough that they began to lose the light, shoulders dappled by the shadows that had come to roost in the trees and turn all their gold into silver, Gimli admitted, "I thought as the hobbits did. That you sought peace from us with your kin."

"It is a distant kinship. I was absent because I had a task to see to." _But our friendship is new and so I will not censure you for your doubts_.

"And now your task is finished, so you come to teach me of trees?" It was a jest, but a gentle one, and the dwarf's open face told Legolas that he would listen and attend to his words if trees were what he wished to speak of. He smiled as a feeling of wonder swept over him again. It was the emotion that Gimli kindled in him most often; so often, in fact, that it was becoming familiar – almost a comfort! _But, then, I listened to him speak of earth and stone in the halls of his forefathers and was glad for his words_._ I am become a wonder to myself, too! Or, perhaps the two of us together make something wonderful and new_. He shied from the thought, knowing what would follow, and shook his head at Gimli. He had learned that there was no being that would wait as patiently for an answer as a dwarf. "I would not presume to instruct one who brought me the bark of a tree of my homeland for comfort."

"So, if we go not to sing to a glade under stars newly awakening, where are we going? Half-unsteady on your feet as you are, I start to wonder if you are the friend-elf who battled so staunchly at my side. So fierce a creature as that never needed to lean upon a dwarf!"

Legolas started at the jest but did not draw his hand away. "We are going to answer your gift, my friend. And I would think so sturdy a creature as my friend-dwarf would not mind being leaned on at need!"

It may have been that Gloin's son heard something plaintive in his tone, for he softened and took on more of the trembling elf's weight. " 'twas not an objection, elf. You are almost as light to bear as the shafts of moonlight that find us here. And my gift needs no answer. That is the way of gifts."

Doubt made his fast-beating heart stutter. "We can turn back."

At his words, Gimli brought a hand to his forehead as if to still some sudden pain. "Friends, we call ourselves. It would be easier to be so if you would not doubt me at every turn. I said that my gift needs no answer, but I did not say that you had done wrong in wishing to offer one, or that I would turn aside from any gift you wished to grant me." He paused to stare up at Legolas's face, pale in the blue-edged twilight. "Is this the way of elves, to jump so at shadows?"

The obvious fondness in his tone and eyes and rising up through bone and sinew to sing against the elf's hand made Legolas draw a sharp breath. "It is the way of this elf, tonight," he managed.

As the wood opened around them, he moved away from the dwarf's side and stood before his offering. "I am no craftsman, so I fear the work may seem poor to your eyes."

Gimli's eyes were wide and storm-wracked. Legolas watched them take in each small, polished slab and heard him gently intone the names of the lost. "You have gotten the stones to shine for you," he murmured.

"I pulled them from the bottom of the stream beds. They have been polished by fast-moving waters, and slow."

"And the shape of the stone… you remembered it?"

"I drew you away in your moment of grief. The memory burns in me."

Shaking fingers reached out and traced over the edges of the memorial markers, the only tombs that the colonists would ever have unless the darkness of Khazad-dum was healed. "You acted to save my life." He turned dark, drowning eyes on the elf. "And now you restore the honor of my kin." He blinked and sparkling tears fell down to adorn the marker that Legolas had appointed for Balin. It was larger than the others and a pale grey-white. "You remembered each one, to vary the stones so."

He placed his hand, again, on the dwarf's shoulder and felt it shaken by a sob. "I would return with you and see the proper rites observed if it were possible. And if such rites might be witnessed by elven eyes."

A laugh and a sob mingled in the dwarf's throat. "What secret could I keep back from you now? My dark name itself would not be too great a price to pay for this kindness." And then his voice was lost to weeping and Legolas wound his long arms around him until his pain was spent.

When he could speak again, he asked the elf about the final marker. "For whom has this stone been raised? And how are the pale stones held in place atop the slab?"

"Since he bade us be friends, I included Mithrandir among these lost ones. Some of his greatest works were done for love of your folk, so I thought it might please him. Those pale river stones are called 'luck stones' among my people and it is sap that holds them in place."

Gimli snorted softly at that. "An elvish solution, but a fine one. The Lady knows of this place?"

"I have her blessing," Legolas assured him. "These markers will stand as long as Lorien lasts and the Lady herself and her handmaidens will see that the grasses do not cover them and that no hand is lifted to do them dishonor." He reached out and brushed the tears from the dwarf's lashes. "Will you rest, now? Letting go of grief can weary one as much as bearing it."

The dwarf nodded. "If my legs will bear me back to our companions, I will rest. But I will come here again to remember them."

Legolas helped him to his feet. "I am glad. When your pain is less, maybe you will tell me of them."

"It would be an honor."


	4. Chapter 4

**An Ounce of Perception**

**(against an age of obscure)**

**Part 4: Lorien (continued) **

The act of weeping had left the dwarf's voice hoarse and Legolas had to listen closely in order to hear through the gruffness. Once, he would not have known how to listen, would not have realized that Gimli drew his sternness around him like a cloak in order to hide his vulnerable and broken parts. "Where are you leading me now, elf? My legs will be too worn for climbing ere long and neither our Ranger nor our man from Gondor will be pleased at being awakened to haul a dwarf into the branches."

Legolas chuckled at the image but answered question for question. "Am I never to hear my name from your tongue, friend? There are many elves in Lorien. One of them may take to answering you if you will not name me."

Once, the dwarf would have said that elves were too high above ordinary folk to deign to speak with him, but now he only halted to look a moment on the elf at his side. "Legolas, then." But the thought came to him that few were the dwarves who have been invited to take an elf's given name into their mouths. _Then I join Narvi with pleasure, for to speak his name is to bring to mind the sight of starlight on swift water and the glint of jewels in hidden places. And the sound of it is like to the ringing voice that lives at the heart of a clear jewel, waiting to be found by the children of Mahal. _"Where then do you lead me, Legolas-friend?"

"I am done leading you at all. And you will be pleased to know that you will be spared climbing this night."

They stood before a small shelter built of pale stone, hidden away in the trees.

"What is this place? How did you bring us here?"

Legolas fidgeted a bit at the question; or, rather, he performed a series of graceful, uncertain motions that Gimli had come to interpret as the equivalent of elvish fidgeting. "It is a gift from my woodland cousins. They heard that I came from Eryn Lasgalen and thought that this guardhouse might prove more comfortable than the treetops. They have heard that much of my father's realm is underground rather than in the air."

To the elf's surprise, Gimli's laughter came rolling and bumping through his body like a shipment of barrels sent down to Long Lake. "They know less of your homeland than _I_ do! And all I have to go on are my father's stories!"

They had passed into the guardhouse and a still-chuckling Gimli quickly lit the candles stationed above the hearth and on the window ledges. As the warm, little lights blossomed, he saw that the tips of the elf's ears had gone red. Amused at this mortal-seeming development, Gimli gripped his arm to offer reassurance. "You needn't panic. It wasn't you that tossed Thorin Oakenshield's company into the cellars. And who's to say that if elves had been crossing dwarf lands on some grand quest that Thorin wouldn't have done the same if his questions were not answered to his satisfaction? The past need not always rear up between us and cause us pain."

The dwarf felt the planes of muscle beneath his hand relax as Legolas accepted his words. Looking around, he saw a cupboard and sideboard for supplies, a hearth and a pile of cut logs, hooks on which to rest weapons or tools, and a hollowed floor space filled with covers. "It is a fair enough place," he decided aloud. "Waystation though it is. It is the first elvish place I've seen to value comfort and use over ornament."

Legolas surprised him with a smile. "I wish, then, that you could see my chambers in the Greenwood. We are more alike than we supposed. While my father and my brothers love to announce their station through fine clothes and jewels, it is my way to keep only useful things about me."

Enjoying a glimpse into the prince's life, Gimli returned his smile and drew a flint from a pouch on his belt. "Well, then, this dwarf shall aim to always be of use to you!" Kneeling, he saw to the fire as Legolas hung their cloaks and rummaged in the store cupboard for wine. Amusement tugged at his mouth as he considered the type of gathering the guardhouse usually hosted and how different he and Gimli were from what it had known. His imagination filled the small dwelling with Galadhrim protectors ending their watch with wine and song. _And, yet, I find in myself no wish to join them and no eagerness to tell them of my truest self, when to Gimli I would speak of all things!_

The flame kindled by dwarven hands was perfect for the late hour – large enough to give warmth and a rosy orange light, but too small for cooking or craftwork. As its comfortable pops and snaps began to fill in the corners of the guardhouse, dwarf and elf retired to the sleeping nest. It was partitioned into distinct sleeping shelves, and if Legolas felt a twinge of regret that they were to be so separated he refused to acknowledge it even in his most private thoughts.

"Your eyes trace the boundaries of the room. Are you uncomfortable mellon-nin?"

Performing a most hobbit-ish widening of the eyes, Gimli turned on his side to regard the elf. "I have heard you compare me to ground-shrooms and held my tongue. Are you now to read the roundness of my form and call me a melon!?"

Surprised at the dark richness of dwarven lashes when touched by firelight, Legolas took a moment to hear. Then, hearing Gimli dredge up the old insult from Rivendell, the elf passed through embarrassment and shock before he realized the joke and slugged the dwarf with a pillow. Unprepared for such an un-elvish revenge, Gimli caught the moss-and-feather-filled bundle in the face with an "oof" that quickly turned to pleased laughter as Legolas tussled with him.

"You know elvish enough to know that _that_ was no insult, you bearded and bothersome creature!"

Gimli struggled beneath pale white limbs that darted in every direction and which seemed to be everywhere at once. "It is no wonder that you are so fierce against the spiders that trouble your woods, elf. You seem to have almost as many legs as they do! Between you and these coverlets, I'll never be untangled!"

Legolas grinned his triumph and tightened long fingers on the dwarf's wrists. "Perhaps such a fate will teach you to be more careful of your words!" His expression changed then, became rueful. "Though perhaps I have as much to learn. I didn't know that you'd heard that ground-shroom remark." The elf's long neck bowed as his voice softened and Gimli found himself ringed by the gold-fall of his hair. "I hope you know, now, that I realize the depth of my error." He could be grateful, at least, that he had learned it in Moria, that it had not taken Galadriel's obvious affection for Gimli for his eyes to be opened to all that the dwarf was.

Freeing one hand, Gimli dared to touch the shining strands. "You've lost yourself in the past again. Come back to the present where you no longer see a ground-shroom when you look upon me and I no longer feel cowed and belittled by the beauty you bear."

Shock opened like pale stars in the blue domes of the elf's eyes. "You felt that?"

"Aye."

Gimli might have said more. He could have told the elf that it was the way of most mortal beings when looking on elves – to first see wonder and beauty and grace and then to regret their own form and clumsiness. Instead, he just looked up into the loveliness of the down-looking elven face that had become even more beautiful in familiarity and friendship.

Long fingers sought those callused by weapons-work and by craft and held tight. "But you understand that it was wrong to think so? To doubt yourself? You are not without beauty, son of Gloin."

Feeling dazed by proximity (he could have leaned up and been nose to nose with the elven prince!) and by touch and by the feel of blood pounding through their twined fingers, Gimli could do naught but accept. _I have beauty enough __**now**__, with you all around me! _In that moment the dwarf remembered his father telling him of the journey through Mirkwood. There, Bilbo Baggins had looked on the fierce loveliness of the wilderness for the first time and confided himself forever changed. _This moment feels as though it could remake me for all times, but I have no wish to fight it._ He swallowed, stabbed by fear._ But will jewels shine the same now that I have seen the shine of firelight there in the hollow of his throat? _As he lay silent, Legolas shifted to give him his freedom. At last, he answered the elf's words, "Thank you, Legolas." But he was thinking of all that the elf had given him and wishing that he could offer something in return beyond thanks. He wished that he knew what might be offered to this new-made friend who could be deadly and fierce in one moment and full of joy and song the next.

As the silence lengthened, Legolas found his way back to the beginning of the conversation. "What were you looking at?"

"Before you battered me with the bedding?"

"Before you deserved battering."

"I was thinking of the ways I would shape a dwelling like this. It is a game dwarves play. When our hands must be idle, we toil in our minds to imagine new forms or to add new comforts to a given space. In mines, especially, it is a popular pastime."

Legolas propped himself up on one elbow; it was the most informal pose that Gimli had ever seen him take, with his hair mussed from play and his eyes wide with curiosity. "You have worked in mines?"

"In mines and at forges, as a crude smith and as a skilled one, and as a merchant selling the wares of Erebor. The last afforded me the most joy, for it allowed me to see more of the world than the mountain and to meet more folk than I could meet in Dale. It taught me, too, of hardship and allowed me to learn the use of my axes against robbers and against orcs."

"But you have not yet chosen a calling of your own – a single craft to which to devote your skills." When Gimli looked confused, wondering where he had come upon such knowledge, he admitted, "I overheard you speaking of it to the hobbits. They see you a wise elder, young as you are, and listen eagerly to your stories."

"I have nieces and nephews in the Mountain and grew up with cousins as well as a younger sister. The hobbits remind me of them and I am happy to tell them stories if it cheers them in dark places. They would be glad to hear your tales as well." He paused, pretended to be considering. "Provided have not forgotten the way of them, ancient as you are."

"I have more than one pillow, dwarf."

"Ah, but this time I am prepared for the nature of your attacks." His eyes shined and Legolas was forced to fight off a laugh as he imagined him crying, "Khazad ai-menu!" as he pelted him with the bedding.

"Doubtless, I would not survive against a dwarf that is forewarned. Let us have peace, and you can tell me what changes you would make to this place."

"You must give me my challenge, elf. I must know who I am to please in my design, who is to dwell here. Will this be a house of men? Of hobbits? Of elves?"

The elf mused a moment, considering. "Make it the dwelling of an elf and dwarf together." The words had sounded in his heart and his mind and at first he was not certain that they had made it to his lips. But Gimli smiled, pleased.

"You are good at this game for a beginner, elf! You give me a true challenge! Such a dwelling has probably not been made in all the ages of the world." He sat up, surveying the boundaries of the ceiling and seeming to measure by eye alone the expanse of the floor and the cut of the windows. "And this construction offers challenges enough."

Though far from recovered at what he had unexpectedly dared, Legolas shot his friend a questioning look. "Does the master craftsman offer excuses before he has even begun?"

"Not excuses – only an observation. Your kin did not intend this place as a long-term dwelling. To make it so, it should be enlarged. But, if we are to please the elf who will dwell here, I think we must first look up."

"Is that not always the direction you look upon encountering elves?"

Catching the too-innocent tone before he fully heard the words, Gimli gave a fierce growl. "I, too, have pillows, elf. And axes."

"And I wish to brave neither. Why must we look up?"

"This ceiling is crudely made. The stone is soft. If rafters were anchored in it forth and back," he pointed to show where these anchoring would be, "Then they would be as branches. Vines could even be grown across them, guided from these low windows to the high windows that should be cut above."

Legolas looked up and imagined smooth, golden boughs reaching through the shadows. "And the dwarf who dwells here – he will not mind these leave and vines?"

"Dwarves, too, like growing things. Of course, the table should be moved there," he indicated a corner. "Otherwise flowers will be falling down into the cups. A dwarf would not like to find flowers floating in his ale or his tea."

Legolas laughed, charmed at the thought of Gimli coming up from a deep drink with pink and orange and pollen-gold flowers clinging to his beard.

"In fact, if it were the elf's wish, a dwarf could dig beneath this floor and a guide a spring _through_ such a house as this. It might bring a confused newt or frog hopping through, but it would also nourish the greenery. Of course, if a spring were dug, it should be anchored." He climbed out of the nest to mark out a space on the floor with his steps. "Here. A tree could be planted here, provided the elf could be talked into a small sort of tree. And here, before it, a small stone bridge to cross our spring so that we did not need to suffer damp feet when replenishing the fire on a snowy night."

Legolas felt his body go stiff at the word "our," but Gimli was too caught up in his designing to notice. Forcing his voice back under control, he said, "You speak of elvish things, mellon-nin, but what comforts would a dwarf have in such a house?"

"I was coming to that. Dwarfs are not such complicated creatures,"

"Do not say as 'simple as ground-shrooms,' dwarf, I warn you."

Gimli smirked. "It never entered my mind. As I was saying, a dwarf could live here with few changes. Instead of wooden cupboards, a dwarf would have safe places hewn into the cool stone. Places to cool ale or keep cheese. Depending on his craft, he would desire a forge, but that could be built into a workshop outside. Beyond that, a dwarf would wish only a heavy rug before the fire and comfortable blankets upon the bed, good food to eat, and some occupation to work at."

"And a companion to praise his good works?"

"Aye, and that."

For the moment, it was all that Legolas could hope for and he drowsed into the open-eyed form of elvish slumber still listening to Gimli making minor improvements. When he dreamed, it was of mugs with handles wrought and shaped to fantastical forms by dwarven hands and of blossoms floating in their contents.


	5. Chapter 5

**An Ounce of Perception**

**(against an age of obscure)**

**Part 5: The Great River**

As it sped away from Lorien, the river showed its grief in the ways that it thrashed between the banks and rolled like the eyes of a frantic horse. Pale foam made patterns of lace around the prows of the grey boats, and Legolas withdrew into himself to explore the bright, high pain that had come to live in the center of his heart as light comes to dwell at the center of a diamond. He had felt it first in Moria when he had seen Gimli defending Balin's tomb. A shaft of light had wended down from some high place, becoming more blue than white as it entered the mines. He had seen that light touch the dwarf and something in him had kindled in answer; his heart had seemed to pulse in pain, or great need.

Although he had guessed at the nature of the pain that had intruded upon his heart, Legolas had conquered it in battle and lost it entirely as they flew from the mines. _I was my own again until Lorien, when he looked on me with a friend's eyes and when I began to know him for noble and for fair. _Part of the elf still struggled with doubt. His people did not speak of the wonder and pain of deep love, though many sought it. He knew that his parents had shared a true bond, but he knew nothing of what they had felt or if they had ever striven against that which drew them one to the other. _Is this what you felt, ada?_ he wondered. _Did it crowd your heart so and fill the center of your bones? Did it make a cage of your ribs and deny you a longed-for breath of air tinged with green smell?_ A strange smile moved over his lips. _Certainly, it did not make your fingers ache to stroke the fiery tresses adorning a mortal, dwarven head! _Legolas had heard love called madness by many and knew his father would have called him mad for the truth that had begun to fill his heart.

_But he would speak without having seen my chosen one's hands as they reached out to take those three golden strands from Lady Galadriel_, thought the archer_. He would speak without having seen the reverence in his features, and he would never have wiped away the tears that Gimli, elf-friend, wept at parting from the Golden Wood. _He remembered the touch of Aragorn's dark eyes when he had touched the dwarf's cheeks. He had seen shock there and many questions, but the river had hurried them on and Legolas was left to struggle alone with that which the man who wore the Evenstar about his neck had long ago resolved.

From the silvery necklace, the elf's thoughts leapt to the token Gimli now carried, the three golden hairs that he had wrapped first in leaves and then in a leather pouch that had been emptied in order to receive its sacred burden. "Nothing else will share this space with the Lady's gift," Gimli had said as he packed. "And safe will I keep it until it can be set in crystal and looked upon in wonder by all who see it."

Lost in thought, Legolas found his fingers moving to his own pale braids. _I would offer up strand upon strand for you to practice with until you found the crystal that best suited your task, friend_, he thought, but the words did not make it to his tongue.

The elf only left his thoughts when he felt something drape itself over his shoulders and turned to see Gimli arranging his cloak about him. Returning to his seat after the precarious balancing that such an act had required, he took up his oars again and pitched his voice low, not wanting to be heard by their companions. "You were trembling, friend, as a beast trembles on sensing a storm. You do not fear the water as Sam and I do, not in a boat fashioned by your kin, so I thought you might be taking a chill from the water."

Legolas gave him a lopsided smile. "You saw me walk atop the snow in the mountains without taking such a chill."

Gimli made an amused sound that was all consonants. "Searching for the sun, as only a creature as silly as an elf would do. Aye, I remember." He weathered the way the elf's eyes narrowed in a glare before going on. "That is why I worried. Have you taken some sickness? If you have, it is one that I have never seen."

Legolas shifted, drawing the borrowed cloak tighter around his shoulders and breathing in the tilled-earth-and-vanilla scent of the dwarf's pipe. Other smells lived in the cloth: the oil Gimli used in the care of his axes, the tang of wood smoke, and something that reminded the elf's keen senses of sugar touched by flame. It was mortal, un-elven, and exotic – and it comforted him beyond all measure. "I am well, friend dwarf," he said at last. "See? My trembling leaves me."

Gimli seemed to accept the answer for the moment and turned again to boat, watching it as if it bore him some ill intent.

Unwilling to speak of the changes coming over him, Legolas knew that he would have to have more care in the days ahead. If Gimli came to believe that something was amiss, he would be as implacable as the mountains he loved in his search for the truth. One side of his mouth lifted. _An illness, friend? No. If I suffer, the I suffer for want of your touch. And if I find strength to speak to you of what has been wrought between us, then it will not be here, where I must struggle to be heard above the water. I will be content with your presence and your friendship and your good, strong hands on the oars._

_For now. _


	6. Chapter 6

An Ounce of Perception

(against an age of obscure)

Part Six: The Great River (continued)

"The dull grey hours passed without event." – J.R.R. Tolkien

"We'll see about that." – me (Undeservingly gifted with a canvas by Tolkien)

Though the country that bordered the river lacked beauty, the Fellowship came to learn that it did enjoy the same rich blue twilight that shaded the dwellings of Bag End, the same blue that made the Tower of Ecthelion seem washed by waves until the moon set it blazing white again, the same blue that doused the green light at the heart of the leafy groves of Eryn Lasgalen – and it comforted them. Drawing their boats to the shore, they made camp as the fading light silvered the thin, shivering trees. Beyond the shore, the mighty river grew as dark as the ink in Bilbo Baggins's best well, or so said Sam Gamgee, watching to see if the newly awakened stars would grow strong enough to mark the dark water.

While the hobbits saw to provisions and Aragorn strode the perimeter, establishing its safety, Legolas and Gimli left their craft for a small stand of trees. There, the dwarf watched the low light rob the gold from the archer's hair as he bent to the task of gathering dry twigs and wind-broken branches. In the past days, his elven friend had made him uneasy, seeming more like the elves of Lorien than like the fierce fighter Gimli knew him to be. The dwarf feared that something had unanchored his companion, tearing his roots from Middle Earth and drawing him toward some other shore known only to the far-seeing eyes of the Eldar. Strange murmurings had fallen from elf's lips as they had drifted south, poetic snatches of nonsense about "the favored light of the stars" and much about "mortal gifts" and "heart's pain." When asked, Legolas would force one of his new wan and glimmering smiles and say that it was only a bit of a song or some remembrance. The ever-unsteady motions of the boat had prevented Gimli from pressing for more. Now, as pale, soft boots crafted for the favored feet of a Mirkwood prince made no sound in the deadfall, the dwarf shivered at his soundlessness; the desolate landscape made the elf seem half a phantom.

Sensing the distress in his dwarven helpmate, Legolas turned to him with a true smile, breaking the momentary spell of Gimli's fear. "I can feel your eyes pressing between the blades of my shoulders like the point of one of my arrows, mellon-nin. Have you found your craft at last and plan to sculpt my likeness when you return to your mountains?"

Once Gimli might have heard or imagined haughtiness in that voice and bristled in offense. Now, the voice of the elf had a markedly different effect; dipping his head, the dwarf smiled into his beard. It seemed that Legolas was beginning to return to himself after his odd behavior on the water. In honor of his father's adventure stories, the dwarf had privately come to mark Legolas's sudden, playful moods as "tra-la-lally" silliness; such things were to be expected if one kept company with elves. "I will leave the choosing of a craft to another day." _A day after this quest_, his tone suggested. "But it would not be unheard of. It has ever been the way of dwarves, to make likenesses of those they care for, in metal or in stone."

A moment passed as they continued the work of searching for firewood and Gimli cast a glance over his shoulder. Had those ever-changeable features altered at his words? Did his new-won companion have any means by which to fathom the truth buried at the heart of what he had spoken, as sharp and fragile as a forest of crystals hidden in the heart of a rock? The shadows hid anything he might have taken for a sign; he saw only the gleam of elven eyes in the deepening dark.

"And I watched because you seemed to be distant," he explained. "I started to half-believe in those myths about wanderers turned into ghost-lights. Thin and fine as you are, I would grieve to see you made into a shaft of light to be drawn away between these sad trees."

The archer froze at his task and cocked his head as if to see better. "You would rescue me from sad trees, my d-friend dwarf?" He had wanted to say "dear" and his tongue stumbled against the undared word, but Gimli had no way of knowing what he had not chanced to speak.

"If the means were given to me. A land bereft of good stone wears on the heart of a dwarf, so I imagined these meager groves would do the same to a woodland elf."

Throat full with something to which he could not yet give voice, Legolas found no fitting answer. Instead, he fitted his hand to his friend's shoulder and turned him back toward the camp. "Come, Gimli. We'll lose the light if we don't turn back soon."

Warmth seemed to spread from those five points of contact where slender fingers met firm flesh garbed in sturdy cloth and metal rings forged beneath the Lonely Mountain. To Gimli's mind no fire could do more than that warmth as it wended through him, startling but not unwelcome.

_But that is no answer that I can make to one such as you_, thought the dwarf. _It is a fool's dream, only. _He remembered the test of the Lady Galadriel, the blazing visions she had kindled in his mind, and shame momentarily brightened his cheeks. Keeping his silence on the subject, Gimli forced himself to murmur an assent and followed the elf back to camp.

To the sturdy warrior's surprise, Legolas knelt with him as he began the work of building a lively blaze; the elf's blue eyes took in even the most subtle of motions, from the positioning of his fingers as he struck the flint to the intricate work of layering heavy branches amongst the twigs. "Can all dwarves summon fire so quickly at need? I remember Mithrandir asking for your help in the mountain passes."

"It needs a quick, deft hand to wake a forge gone cold," the dwarf explained. "So we learn the craft early and well. It is one of our first tests, you know, as we move toward mastery of a craft." He stopped, surprised by his own words. His kin would have censured him for the sharing, but it was not on account of those beloved faces that he fell silent. "You would not know," he realized aloud. "For all the beginnings we made in Lorien, I know little of the ways of elves,"

"And I know less of the ways of dwarves," Legolas finished for him with a smile.

"Ah. Now I understand why you will suffer yourself to kneel in ashes. Elves are most curious creatures. I have learned that."

Blue eyes twinkled with mirth. "Your 'curious' has more than one meaning, I think," Legolas returned and his smile had nothing unworldly or drawn about it. "And why should I worry about dirt or ashes more so than my friend dwarf?" No sign of offense colored the words, only more elvish curiosity.

"I suppose that I imagined that a prince of elves would not light his own fires," Gimli said, placing the finishing touches on the foundation of the flames before drawing back.

"Not always," conceded the elf. "And you could not quite imagine me at a forge, soot on my face, hammer in hand?"

The image won a laugh. "No, I cannot, though I know, now, that there is no hammer mighty enough to break you in half as you hefted it, for all your fine appearance."

And so they spoke together of the craft of lighting fires, and Legolas answered all that he learned of dwarves with equal lore of elves. Commenting on how much he had learned in the time it took for the fire to be built and then burn down enough for cooking, the elf teased the dwarf about becoming a diplomat to Eryn Lasgalen after their quest. Standing a little apart, Boromir looked to Aragorn with wondering eyes. "I have heard that dwarves are secretive folk," said the man of Gondor to the Ranger. "But watching them, I would not believe it."

"Mock them not," Aragorn cautioned. "It may seem a strange friendship to our eyes, but it may well be one needed in these days of coming darkness."

"When hope is carried by Halflings all known things may be changed and made unknown," Boromir agreed. "But I would dare speak no word against them, strange as their bond may look to my eyes." He smiled. "A dwarven axe would too soon find my ribs, I fear."

They chuckled together at that, but Aragorn added, "Dwarves are perilous fierce in their friendships and unwavering in their loyalty. Legolas may not know it, but with a dwarven defender at his side, he may have less to fear than the rest of our company on this quest.

Night fell and Boromir began to walk the boundaries, watching over the sleepers. Legolas and Gimli had taken to positioning themselves between the hobbits and the wider world beyond, so that if danger found them it would also find axes and arrows ready to meet it. Often, they spoke together as the rest of the Fellowship sank down into dreaming. This night, Gimli lay quiet as he watched Legolas enter that strange half-dream of elven sleeping, and spoke only when he knew he would not be heard.

"You spoke of sculpting, heart's friend," he said quietly, feeling himself a lad again confiding his secrets to the silent stones. "And so have turned my mind to thoughts of that task, untrained as my hands are for it." He held them up as if for inspection. He excelled at combat and was famed both within and beyond Erebor for his skill with throwing axes as well as with the hardier, heavier battle axe. His hands also knew the work of mining and of bringing a smith's hammer down on metal heated by the forge. But to shape the likeness of an elf? It was a challenge inside of challenge enclosed by a harder challenge yet, reminding him of the nested boxes his father liked to enclose gifts in, his smile growing each time a new box was uncovered in place of the long-sought prize.

Gimli had not courage enough – not yet – to explain the difficulties to the elf awake, but his heart and mind were so full of them that he had to speak aloud, even if he had only the night and the river to listen and the warm rustling of the fire to answer. "Ages I might seek," he said at last, "And find no marble to match the skin of brow and throat. And what hands hold skill enough to polish stone until it seems to breathe and flash with life? My ancestors may have known that secret once, but it has not been given unto me."

The dwarf broke off then, thinking of the many enchanted artifacts inside the his mountain home. No craftsman or gifted dwarrowdam now knew how to make such treasures. "Yet dwarves are patient folk," he murmured to himself. "And we will seek until our lost arts belong again to all, Mahal-willing. But even if all those gifts were mine and I could be sure of the marble I had shaped, much work would lay before me. When men and elves think of dwarrows, it is gold that comes into their minds and gold would be my next challenge. Can you guess why, dear greenwood elf?" He smiled at the open-eyed sleeper. The sight of those eyes, unfixed and lost even in their openness, remained disconcerting, but his affection for the elf had led him to acceptance of it at last. It was still sometimes preferable to all that singing.

"Since you have no guesses for me, I will supply the answer to my own riddle, elf. Gold for the hair of my sculpture – that is what is needed. But gold beaten as thin and fine as wire, gold filled with honeyed light taken from a flower's heart, gold turned pale as wheat under first frost – such as this would I need to craft." His eyes brightened as if from the vision of such were reflected there undimmed. "If such alchemy were mine to work, I would name it for you, you know," he confided. Fondness gentled his voice, making it as warm and soft as the precious metal of which he spoke. " 'Elf gold' it would be called. And my kin would grumble as they forged until the beauty of the color filled their eyes and they forgot old feuds for the love of the wonders they wrought."

He stared long at the elf then, to make certain his words were his alone. "And still, the hardest task would be left undone. It has come down into the speech of men to speak of eyes as gems, but they have forgotten that they learned such speech from our mountain lords in days of old. My forefathers knew each piece of gold and chip of crystal in their treasuries, for on such wealth was our safety founded and from such stores came our ability to buy supplies, to feed and clothe our people. They knew gems, too, those lords. When they gave so mighty a compliment as to say 'your eyes sparkle like gems,' 'twas specific gems they held in the eyes of their minds, gems they had polished and shaped until light fell in love with them and came to dwell in them as in a house, making each facet into a window looking in on its shining." He broke off to stroke his beard, thinking of treasures he had been gifted and treasures he had held. "I have never seen a single gem rich enough to stand for your eyes, friend elf, not even in sculpture."

"But I do not despair!" he reassured the sleeping archer after a moment. "Your words have set me thinking and I may have found an answer that would serve, if I was to have only your likeness to remind me of our friendship and the great gift you gave me in the care of my fallen kin."

A smile creased the skin about his eyes. "How my father would shake when he saw the bust of Thranduil's son in my dwelling! I will not lie to you even in sleep, friend – I think it would be anger that would set him shaking first. But my tales of you would melt his fury as music will do, and he would hear of the stones you raised. They would all hear, and so would come to do honor to the image of you, if I had skill enough to see it made." He subsided into gentle chuckles, thinking on the family he missed and the way they would respond to the changes their quest had already wrought in him.

"Where was I? Yes, eyes. Eyes like gems, but no gems like enough to eyes like yours. But I have an answer to it, as I said. Not a single gem, no, but fine, thin, shimmering layers of gems, one atop the other – that would serve. Each would send its light and colors through the others until they made a new color that changed with each shift of the light. My gem would have in it the blue of growing things – of hurtsickle flowers and the blue of the shadows of your forest. That I think would please you."

The dwarf's eyes closed then and he seemed to drift, imagining the shine of blue flowers in mountain meadows as the wind swept through them and carried their colors off into the sky. When he continued his voice was sleep-touched and content. "Ah, how the gem-cutters would smile when they learned what pieces I needed. I have not told you of the gemlings yet. As much as they love their craft, so do they love striking bargains for their work. Each piece is as a child to them and they never easily surrender their darlings. Moonstone, I will have of them first. You would like such a stone – like the light of the moon turned solid in your hands. It has a sheen like the pale wood of your bow. "It would be the foundation for your eyes." He lifted a brow in question and studied elven features touched by the wavering light of the moon. "Have you patience for the rest, master elf? I have warned you how a dwarf will go on when it comes to beautiful things." Whether he was referring to the jewels and metals of his craft or to the elf even Gimli could not have said.

Receiving no sign that he should leave off, he told the rest. "Aquamarine would follow, the moonstone shining behind, and then lapis to deepen the blue. Over the lapis I would layer blue opal with its laughing rainbows enclosed. Few of my folk prize opal, soft as it is, but it seems a proper elf stone to my mind. It is changeable and holds laughter, draws in the warmth of the breast it adorns. A layer of blue goldstone will cover the opal, protecting it from cold, and its flecks of silver will shine like stars drowned in color. I have seen you speak to them in Khazad-dum so I would give them a home in your eyes for always." He closed his eyes then, content with the vision he had created.

Still, he had final words for a friend wandering in dreams. "Goodnight then, Legolas. If I live to see the mountains of my homeland again I will create it if I can. And when I set it before you – what then would you see? What then would you know of a dwarf's fool heart?"

Despite the epithet, a smile lay upon the dwarf's lips as he slept and his fingers danced in dreams of shaping.


End file.
